


And I Wish I Could Help (but it's hard when I hate myself)

by LyraBF



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: (But hey what else is new?), (He hits his kids! Well only Dick really but it! still! counts!), (I'll stand my ground on that), (It's Mirage and Tarantula and I swear it won't be graphic), (and oh yes that is sarcasm my dear friends), (anyways), (not saying he doesn't try his best but his best isn't very good), Abusive Bruce Wayne, Also absolutely no batcest, And I will validate his trauma I swear, At least no present romance, Batbrothers are brothers, Batfamily Dynamics (DCU), Bruce Wayne's A+ Parenting, But he's the one we'll focus on, Canonical Character Death, DICK GRAYSON ACTUALLY DIED, Dick Grayson Angst, Dick Grayson Gets a Hug, Dick Grayson Has Issues, Dick Grayson Has PTSD, Dick Grayson Needs a Hug, Dick Grayson is Damian Wayne’s Parent, Dick Grayson is Nightwing, Dick Grayson-centric, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt Dick Grayson, Hurt/Comfort, No Romance, No editing haha whoops, Past Rape/Non-con, Protective Batfamily (DCU), Protective Dick Grayson, Self-Sacrificing Dick Grayson, There's stuff in the past though, Unreliable Narrator, also!, eventually, more tags will be added as I go!, they all do, yay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:40:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28227024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LyraBF/pseuds/LyraBF
Summary: Bruce has long since lost his way, lost his life for the mission that consumes everything. (Dick’s so tired of it.) Jason is burning with rage that simmers beneath the surface, ready to explode. (Dick wants to hug him, but that has never ended well.) Tim is detached and eerily similar to Batman, drowning in a sea that he has built for himself. (Dick wants to help, really, but he knows his help isn’t wanted - he isn’t wanted.) Damian is just a child, so filled with hate and fear, and no healthy mechanisms to cope with those. (Dick wishes he could show him a way, but he can’t.)Dick so desperately needs to keep them all afloat (and he has, for a longer time than anyone should have expected). He can’t, though. Not when he can’t even help himself anymore.(Title from NF's "Hate Myself". Feel free to go and listen if you want to.)
Relationships: Batfamily Members & Dick Grayson, Cassandra Cain & Dick Grayson, Dick Grayson & Alfred Pennyworth, Dick Grayson & Barbara Gordon, Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson & Damian Wayne, Dick Grayson & Donna Troy, Dick Grayson & Everyone, Dick Grayson & Jason Todd, Dick Grayson & Koriand'r, Dick Grayson & Roy Harper, Dick Grayson & Tim Drake, Dick Grayson & Wally West, Stephanie Brown & Cassandra Cain & Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Jason Todd & Damian Wayne, Stephanie Brown & Dick Grayson, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Jason Todd & Damian Wayne, others
Comments: 67
Kudos: 323





	1. I Don't See You Like I Should

**Author's Note:**

> Whoa here we go, something new! I'm excited to share this one with people, and also quite nervous. As it looks right now, this will be quite an ambitious project and uhh... I've never been very good at finishing multi-chapter fics? (Not to mention that I'm currently supposed to be writing another multi-chapter fic but hey haha procrastionation, right?) I'll try my best with this one^^
> 
> Fair warning: I have not edited or proof-read this, so. Whoops? (And if you think I've got a clear direction for this fic, think again. Hope you'll enjoy anyways :3)
> 
> Be mindful of the tags while you read, and please tell me if you feel like I should add trigger/content warnings anywhere!

It would be easier to just ignore the buzzing of his phone, Dick thinks as he rubs a hand over his face. If he answers (when he answers) it’ll be Bruce and his probably well-meaning but incredibly confining check-up, or Batman asking for Nightwing’s help with a case, or Damian demanding he come over to Gotham and- and Dick loves them, he does. He loves them more than he loves himself, and Dami especially so. Wonderful, amazing Damian, who is more like a son than a brother, who has made so much progress since he first arrived. Dick _loves_ him, loves them all, but sometimes he just gets so tired.

It would be easier not to answer, he thinks again, but he’s already walking towards the phone because _what if_ . What if it’s something important, something that he should really help with? (And it’s not like Dick doesn’t think that just his family’s company is important, but sometimes they’re just a little bit too much, and sometimes Dick gets tired of being the only thing holding them together.) Or what if this is the one call from Jason, the call that Dick _knows_ will never come, but he _hopes_ it will, because without hope, he would shatter; because if Jason never forgives him (and Dick knows he won’t, because Dick doesn’t _deserve_ Jason’s forgiveness), he doesn’t know what to do. Then there is the possibility of Tim, and it’s not like Tim never calls. It’s just always Nightwing that he needs, not Dick, and he never calls because he wants to. Dick needs to hope that one of these days, one of these calls, Tim will say that… Dick doesn’t really know what he hopes for, because he’s burnt his bridges with Tim even more than with Jason, and him and Jason- well. He’s fucked up, is what he’s done, and he won’t be surprised if neither of them forgive him.

It could even be Barbara - the two of them get along, kind of. There’s still that bitter aftertaste of their breakup, the lingering sense of betrayal and lies, and Dick knows that Barbara hasn’t forgotten, hasn’t really forgiven either. She has moved on, though, and for that, Dick is grateful. The phone could be any of his friends (those that he still has, that is, because most of them haven’t really bothered to call in a while, and he’s quite sure that they’re pissed - and he doesn’t blame them one bit).

So yes, it would be easier to just ignore it, but Dick needs to be at least this one thing that everyone expects him to be: available. (Because it’s not like he has a life, or a job, or his own city to look after.) 

With a sigh, he picks up the phone - it’s Bruce, and Bruce means… Bruce means he would rather not answer. He could still put the phone down, and no one would know. He could say he was busy, could say- but no. Even if he doesn’t trust Bruce like he used to, even if Spyral destroyed what frail trust there had been, Bruce is still the man who brought him up. Bruce is still Batman, and Dick never really outgrew Robin, and he respects the man too much to just straight-up ignore him. (And maybe, just maybe, he fears him a little too.)

“B, what’s up?” he asks, and he hates how cheerful he sounds. He hates it, and he loves it, because he knows the master detective has never been able to see past Dick’s act.

“We need you for a case, tonight,” comes the short reply, gruff and to the point, as it always has been with Bruce and with Batman. (The distinction is small, but it’s important to Dick. Bruce and Batman are not the same - they can’t be the same, for so many reasons.)

“Mhm, what’s it about?” Dick asks, and he really doesn’t want to know. Doesn’t even want to go, but Bruce wasn’t asking. Bruce never asks; he just commands, and Dick has long since lost the energy to tell the man to stuff it. He tried, after he died, and that didn’t work out. So, he just accepts things as they are. 

“I’ll send the files over, and we’ll have a brief at the cave,” Batman says, and after a while, he chimes in an awkward and stilted, “Drive safely.”

“See ya, B,” Dick replies with his signature cheer, and hangs up on the call. So, sleep is a no-go for the night; sometimes Dick wonders whether Bruce realises just how long it takes to drive to and from Bludhaven. Sometimes he thinks that Bruce does all this for the explicit reason of making Dick stay overnight. He rarely does, and when that happens, it’s only for Damian. The manor is hardly a place where he can feel comfortable, what with Bruce and his awkward politeness, and Tim and the cold shoulder. When he does stay, he sleeps in Dami’s room, and pretends it’s for cuddles and bonding. It’s for that too, but mostly so that he won’t feel as trapped. (Dick wonders if Damian knows; the kid isn’t stupid, after all.)

The steady tick-tick-tick of the clock on his wall reminds him of the fact that he’s got a spare two hours before he needs to leave if he intends to make it to Gotham on time. Two hours is more than enough for a nap - Dick can rarely sleep for more than an hour without waking up in between anyhow. He might even have time to eat something, if he manages to muster up an appetite. With a weary sigh, Dick places his phone on the coffee table and slumps down onto the well-used sofa, draping a fuzzy blanket over himself. Maybe he won’t fall asleep, but he might as well try.

\------------------

Driving up to the cave just three hours later, without sleep or food, Dick can’t quite say how he managed to _not_ get into an accident on the way. With the way his focus is slipping in and out, Dick can safely say that he isn’t on top of his game. (Hasn’t been in a long time if he’s honest, but that’s a thought for another day.) It would probably be smarter to just tell Bruce that he’s too tired, that he’s been swamped with work (and that’s not even a lie, really) and that he’s a liability in the field. But. But he can’t, because if there’s one thing that he cannot be, it is a liability. He’s the oldest, the first Robin, and he should not be the weakest link.

So, he manages to climb off of his bike with only a slight wobble, and makes his way up to where Batman and Robin are standing, both in gear. Batman merely grunts in acknowledgement (and honestly, a “thank you for coming” wouldn’t have hurt, would it?), and Damian gives him a look that would probably seem neutral to others, but to Dick it’s obviously pleased. Dick gives his brother (son) a cheerful wave and a grin, because he’s not going to play Bruce’s game of do-I-love-you-do-I-not; Damian _will_ know that he is loved, and Dick will make sure of that.

“So, the case,” he starts, because honestly, that’s all Bruce wants him for right now. Batman doesn’t bother with pleasantries. “You’ve got a plan, I’d assume?”

As per usual, Batman only makes an acknowledging sound, before typing something on the computer. Dick doesn’t push - they’ll get to the point eventually, when Bruce feels like it. First, they’re apparently going to stand in silence as Bruce keeps going back and forth between tabs. Fun and useful.

“Me and Robin will take the west-side entrance, _here_ ,” Batman finally says, pointing to the location on a map. “And Nightwing will take the eastern side. The head of the operation, and tonight’s deal, should take place _here_ , and on each side, there are heavily armed guards. Fifteen on the west, eight on the east side.”

Eight guards isn’t the most he’s had to take on, not by far. And to be quite honest, tonight’s big bust doesn’t seem all that big - doesn’t seem to warrant Bruce asking for his assistance - but still, Dick feels a tendril of unease. He’s done this before. It’s just, tonight he doesn’t really feel like winning, and that’s a dangerous mindset to have.

\-----------------

A few bruised ribs, a bullet graze on his left arm and a split lip are far less than Dick had hoped for when he entered the warehouse. He had tried to give the goons a chance to get to him, but they were just _so bad_ , and Dick wasn’t about to be obvious about it. If he got knocked around in a fair fight, no one would question it. If he just stood there and let people hurt him? Well, one way or another, Bruce would find out and Dick could honestly live without the conversation that would follow. Besides, even this amount of injuries is apparently a little too much for Batman (and isn’t that funny, considering how much worse he looked before heading down to Spyral?), and Dick _really_ isn’t in the mood to report.

“-careless. Watching you fight was like watching an amateur. You’re better than this - I taught you better than this. You can’t-”

Dick can’t listen anymore. He’s heard it all before, too many times, and none of it is surprising. It’s not like Dick doesn’t know what he’s doing; hell, he’s been a hero in his own right for years, he survived months undercover _without_ any outside communication, he’s got a day job and a night job and he juggles them way better than anyone should expect him to. Bruce has _no right_ to lecture him as if he were still Robin, and Dick is practically seething with frustration on the inside. He wants to snap, to yell, to defend himself and to ask what the hell Bruce was doing, watching him fight instead of focusing on his own fucking job. But Dami’s here, and Dick feels bad enough for fighting with Bruce back when Jason was Robin. Dami doesn’t need to see that, and quite frankly, Dick doesn’t have the energy for that anyhow. 

He can’t listen anymore, but he can’t make himself speak up or move away either. What’s the point, anyhow? He knows the drill, knows his lines and knows how to pretend. He doesn’t even _need_ to listen to be able to give Bruce the answer that he wants.

“Sorry,” he says, when Batman is done talking. Apologies roll off his tongue too easily, and the sheepish smile that he adds into the mix almost feels real. “It’s just, a bit busy at work. Won’t happen again, I promise!”

Bruce narrows his eyes, and if Dick hadn’t grown up with the man, he would have cracked under that scrutinizing look. Instead, he just smiles and rubs his neck, and lets out a relieved sigh when Bruce finally nods and turns around to head for the showers.

“You said that the last time, too,” his brother comments, and Dick is glad that his body didn’t jump the same way his heart did. Damian’s narrowed eyes look just a little too much like Bruce’s, and the boy continues, “When father told you you had been reckless. You said it would not occur again, but it did. What’s to stop that the next time?”

“Aww, lil D, are you worried?” Dick asks, teasing and lighthearted, because that’s always a sure way to throw Damian off. It might not be exactly fair, but… but he’s doing it to protect Damian (he’s doing it to protect himself).

“I- I am merely making an observation,” Damian splutters, and Dick finds the slight blush on his cheeks to be absolutely adorable. “And a correct one at that!”

“I’m touched, you know, that you care,” he says, reaching out to ruffle Damian’s hair. The boy dodges, as expected, but it seems to be enough to distract him from the original conversation.

“Do _not_ touch me,” he growls, sniffing haughtily. “Tt, I’m going to shower now, and I suggest you do the same, Grayson. Sweat is not becoming for any self-respecting vigilante.”

“Sure thing, Dami,” Dick grins, letting his smile drop off his face as Damian disappears from view. Wearily, he makes his way over to the locker rooms, longing for a bed and some sleep, but knowing that tonight is not going to offer either of those things.

\------------------

“You could stay for the night,” Bruce offers, and Dick wishes that it wouldn’t be so awkward. He wishes that he could go back to the time when he’d crawl into Bruce’s bed after a nightmare and trust that he’d be safe. He can’t, though, and although him and Bruce are civil, they can’t be what they used to be, anymore.

No, Dick thinks, he won’t stay for Bruce, ever again. If he does that- If he does that, he doesn’t know if he could leave. Because it’s fine, as long as all he does is come and help when Bruce calls for it. Help is meaningful, has a purpose, and an end and a beginning. Dick needs that, with Bruce, because otherwise he’ll end up in an infinite loop. Dick hates that the man has so much power over him - hates that Bruce probably doesn’t realise it, that he’s honestly trying his best and Dick can’t accept that. Dick doesn’t hate Bruce - if anything, he hates himself. (And isn’t that something.)

“Thanks, B, but I should really head back. I’ve got a morning shift, and y’know I’m not a morning person, so,” Dick grins, already pulling on a jacket. (There’s no way he’ll drive out in his Nightwing suit, not with the rain and the kind of night that he expects himself to have.)

“Tt, Grayson, it would be unwise to drive back in that weather,” Damian chimes in, and Dick can feel his resolve melting. He doesn’t want to stay at the manor - he never wants to, nowadays - but the carefully hopeful look in Damian’s eyes is just too much to handle.

“...Fine, but just for the night, and I’ve got to leave early,” Dick says, ignoring Bruce’s pleased hum and focusing on the way Damian’s eyes light up. It’s worth it, he thinks, to stay here, if it makes Damian happy. “And since _you_ wanted me to stay, we’ll have a sleepover in your room, Dami. You don’t have enough sleepovers, clearly.”

“I have more than enough, Grayson, all thanks to you,” Damian huffs, but when Dick drags him up the stairs, he doesn’t object. Dick thinks that the pleased smile on Damian’s face might be the only reason he’ll have energy to keep going for the rest of the week.

\-----------------

Dick doesn’t fall asleep, but he knew that from the moment he laid his head on the pillow. Sometimes, being close to someone else helps, but nights like these, he knows it won’t. Not even if it’s Damian. Dick is glad, though, that he didn’t end up sleeping, because if he would sleep, he would dream, and he would dream about _her_ and ghost hands all over his body, and then he’d wake up with Damian draped across him and it wouldn’t be good, at all. No, it’s good that he can’t sleep, even if it means that he’ll be half-asleep the entire following day.

Being close to Damian does help, though. Helps him feel less alone, helps him feel safer. Listening to his kid breathing, watching the peaceful expression on Damian’s face - at these moments, Dick honestly wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. (And if his mind still returns to the roof, the cave, the loneliness; that’s alright. It’s alright if he’s not here, as long as he isn’t there. Memories are fine; flashbacks are not. He should probably talk with someone anyhow, but who would want to listen?)

Sleep, Dick thinks, is a luxury that he misses almost as much as a real smile and a family’s love.

(At least he still has Damian, his brother (his kid). The boy that loves him unconditionally, and fiercely, even if he has trouble showing it. Sometimes Dick worries that once Damian is older, he’ll see Dick for the fraud that he is. Sometimes Dick worries that Damian’s love will run out and he’ll be all alone. Sometimes Dick thinks that it would be better to just leave Damian be, and to allow Bruce to connect with him. But he’s selfish, and scared, and lonely; Dick needs Damian, and when he looks at the kid (still just a kid) he knows that Damian needs him too.)

(He can live like this forever, for Damian. On his worst days, the days when everything is too much and he can't seem to find a way out, he can continue living, for Damian.)

(Maybe one day he'll be able to feel alive again, too. Maybe one day it won't hurt to smile. Dick doubts it.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the first chapter's done! Feedback is very much appreciated, both positive comments and constructive criticism. Tell me if there's someone who you feel is very OOC, because umm, I haven't actually read the comics so? Hehe whoops.
> 
> Thanks for reading this far everyone! <3


	2. If This Is It, Then I Feel Hopeless

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh wow, it's been a while, but I'm finally somewhat done with chapter two! It's a bit short, largely unedited and written mostly at 3AM, but here it is. (I swear I've been almost done with it for like a month, and I'm still a bit uncertain about it...) Thank you all for the lovely comments on chapter one, and I hope you'll enjoy this one ^^
> 
> Also, this chapter is very focused on Dick but I promise I'll add in more interactions and stuff soon!  
> 
> 
> (Note: please do remember that things are told from Dick's point of view, and thus everything is heavily filtered through his eyes. This chapter shouldn't have anything too graphic in it, but there are a few sentences that sort of vaguely reference the Tarantula incident. Overall, Dick obviously isn't in the best headspace in this fic so, yeah. Again, please tell me if you feel like I should add any warnings either here or in the tags!)

Tim seems to have some sort of a sixth sense when it comes to Dick, at least if his absence from the breakfast table is anything to go by. Dick wishes that he would feel upset about Tim avoiding him - because that’s what this is; Dick isn’t _stupid_. But, well. It’s marginally easier to force a piece of toast down without Tim’s judgemental glances and the awkward silence that is all Dick’s fault (and Bruce’s, but whatever, Dick can take the blame. Bruce certainly won’t). 

Really, Dick was going to leave well before any of them woke up. That would have been better for everyone, because Dick knows that if he had left, Tim would be sitting here and actually eating something, and the slight tightness in Bruce’s jaw would certainly not be there. Damian would sit rigidly, as he does now, but without the spark of joy in his eyes, and for Alfred, the day would simply be as any other, and there it is. The guilt that always makes him stay whether he actually wants to or not.

Damian only ever gets to be a child when Dick is around. (Bruce doesn’t do it purposefully (he hopes), doesn’t _understand_ that what Damian needs isn’t only a mask and violence, but a father and a home, too. Dick has tried _so many times_ to make Bruce see, but it is no surprise to him that as much as Bruce may love his son, he loves Batman more. It’s petty of Dick to even think that, and he knows it, but so what? It’s mostly true anyways.)

Alfred misses him, for a reason that Dick cannot quite understand. What he _can_ understand, though, is the warm smile and the “my _dear_ boy” and the cup of his favourite tea that is always readily there when Dick visits the manor. (Dick misses Alfred too; misses the way the old butler makes a house a home, misses the way Alfred can make anyone, even Bruce, shut up. He visits way too rarely, he knows, but as much as he loves Alfred, he can’t deal with the manor anymore. He hates it, hates how his home has become so strange to him, but there is nothing he can do.)

(Sometimes, however, he thinks he might just resent Alfred a little bit. After all, what kind of a man raises a man like Bruce? But then again, perhaps Bruce has always been stubborn. Perhaps the butler, so alike Dick (except not _really_ , because Bruce came back, and Damian is his brother, not his son - although that’s not how it feels), was thrown into parenthood by unfortunate circumstances, without the proper experience to handle it. Dick can hardly fault Alfred for not knowing what to do with a traumatised child. He supposes there are worse ways Bruce could have ended up, too, all things considered.)

His absence would be a benefit for half of the inhabitants in the house, but the other half gnaws at his conscience and Dick could never be selfish enough to leave without a goodbye. (Never again, he thinks as he looks at Damian; at Bruce’s hands cradling a cup of coffee. He’ll never leave without a goodbye again, no matter what the circumstances.)

\-----------------

It’s way too late when Dick finally makes his way to the front door, all smiles and warmth, and beneath that facade, anxiety and guilt. He’ll be late from work, again, and yet he hasn’t been able to stay for as long as Damian probably would have wanted. He’ll have to make it up to the kid, at some point, although he already knows that there won’t be enough time. (Dick will make time. There’s always things he could cut away from, like sleep (he rarely gets any) or… like sleep.)

“Do drive safely, master Dick,” Alfred says, clasping his shoulder firmly. “And you must come by more often; you are more than welcome to join us for dinner whenever.”

“Thanks, Alfie, I’ll try to,” Dick grins, and he does mean it, even if it is unlikely that he’ll actually come. He’ll try to, but if Tim is there, or Jason, he won’t be able to. Not because he doesn’t want to, but because he knows _they_ don’t want him to. It’s alright; he likes takeout just fine, on those times when he actually feels hungry, and if him not being at the manor means Bruce and Jason might finally - _finally_ \- be getting along again, it's most certainly worth it.

Bruce is lingering by the door, that awkward air around him, and Dick braces himself for whatever half-hearted attempt for bonding that is about to come. “I, uh, well, we all, really, would appreciate you stopping by more often,” Bruce says, and Dick isn’t quite sure of whether Bruce truly thinks it true. 

“Well, I’ll try to squeeze in some time for that, then,” he says, the lie slipping out oh so easily. And because Alfred won’t mind, and he doesn’t care about Bruce’s feelings on this matter, he adds, “Dami, would you like to try out that new pizza place by the park?”

“Is this the place that you have sent messages about for the entire week?” Damian asks, arms crossed and every bit as surly as he tends to look. At Dick’s confirmation, he glances over at Bruce before nodding. “Pizza sounds… satisfactory. I trust you will inform me of the schedule well ahead of time?”

“Of course,” Dick says with a smile, ruffling Damian’s hair as he opens the door. “Well, I’d better be going. You have a good day at school, right? B, I’ll see you around. Tell Timmy I said hi!”

With that Dick gives a cheerful wave and makes his way to his civilian bike, finally breathing out as the heavy door thuds behind him. The visit could have gone worse, he assumes, even if Tim did avoid him. It's not like he expected anything different, anyways, and without Tim around, he could at least focus his attention on Damian without feeling bad about it. (And if Dick feels a pang of guilt and hurt in his heart, he has long since learnt to ignore that; at least that's what he likes to tell himself.)

\-----------------

A busy day at the precinct, not helped by the fact that Dick was late, does little to lift his mood or his energy. At times, Dick does find himself wondering why the hell he chose to work as a cop instead of something relatively low-maintenance. Maybe it would be better to be a barista or cashier, or something of the likes, but then again, Dick has always wanted to help people. Sure, most of the police force are corrupt and almost as bad as the guys they’re supposed to be chasing, but that’s just all the more reason for him to stay. His city needs more cops who care about the people, and if he can do anything - anything at all - to help… well, he _was_ raised by the man who took up Batman.

(He was raised by Bruce, and his unyielding morals; morals that, admittedly, Dick has not always agreed with. (Morals that have been forced upon him anyways, along with expectations that he has always felt he struggles to meet.) Dick often wonders how he would have ended up if he’d been able to remember more of what his parents taught him; wonders if he’d have questioned Bruce’s methods more, and if, perhaps, he truly would have left the man for good.)

(He knows he wouldn’t have, not after his younger siblings came into the mix. After all, family is a treasure that Dick has learnt not to take for granted.)

His honest will to help doesn’t mean that the job is any less exhausting, though. Doesn’t mean that he hasn’t been _so close_ to quitting so many times, because there isn’t enough that he can do. How could he even begin to make an impact when the people don’t trust him? It’s hard to aid someone who doesn’t want his assistance, and while Dick can’t blame the people of Blüdhaven for their scepticism regarding the police force, he can’t help but to wish they’d give him a chance, at least. (He tries to ignore how true that statement might ring in his personal life as well.)

The day has been busy, and Dick is tired, and honestly he just needs a break. And yet, there’s still Blüdhaven, his own crusade, his own mission. The work will _never_ end, and somewhere, some part of Dick relishes in the fact. As long as there is crime in his city, he is still needed. Still useful for _something_ at least, even if he’s failed Blüdhaven, too. (Is there anything - anyone - he _hasn’t_ failed, he wonders. He can’t bring himself to linger on the thought; he fears he might not like the answer.)

So, he’s tired. He needs a break. He hasn’t eaten since breakfast and honestly, he’s kind of hungry. But whatever; that’s all secondary to the fact that it’s been a long day at the precinct, and that Nighwing was in Gotham the night before. (And sure, Dick knows that he probably _could_ skip one night, but then what's going to stop him from doing the same thing again?) With a resigned sigh, Dick climbs up the stairs to his apartment, and starts getting into costume.

Rain smatters on the windows of his apartment; it’s been raining ever since the night before, and Dick really isn’t looking forwards to patrol. The downpour might force many to stay inside, but for the criminals of Blüdhaven, it offers a more than adequate cover. For Nightwing, the night will be cold and lonely and long, and he already knows it.

\-----------------

The rooftops are all the same, sometimes. It’s an odd feeling, not being able to distinguish them from each other, after so many years of navigating through them. He could probably blame it on the rain; it’s picked up since he left, not a drizzle anymore but rather a heavy downpour. He could probably blame it on the concussion that he should really have given more thought to. Too bad that he knows it’s neither of those acceptable explanations, even if the only person Dick would need to convince is himself, anyhow.

The sensible thing to do would be to call it a night, go and take a hot shower, maybe eat something, and sleep. Dick _knows_ that. It’s not like he’ll be able to do much now, with the rain and the fuzzy edges of his vision, the rooftops blending together. He's far too out of it to do anything about the big criminals, at least without risking some serious damage, and the petty thugs will have gone home by now. Honestly, Dick doesn't even expect himself to be able to accomplish anything more tonight.

And still, he stays out here, in the cold and drenching night, letting the world melt together just a little more. Maybe it’s a sense of duty, maybe it’s his own twisted punishment for his failures; maybe it’s just that he’s too tired to really care at all. It’s not like his empty apartment would be much better. (It’s not like anything could be better, or worse, for that matter. Dick has long since come to the conclusion that things just… are. Sometimes there isn’t anything more to it, even if he would like to find a silver lining.)

\-----------------

Dick supposes it’s kind of sad, sitting on the bathroom floor in a wet uniform at five in the morning, just trying to gather enough strength to take the thing off and jump into the shower. It’s been half an hour since he came back - he’s checked the time way too many times by now - and he still hasn’t been able to do much more than slump down on the tiles and breathe; as if though that would help with anything. (It does, kind of. At least the bathroom is warm and dry, and smells only faintly of the all-too familiar mix of perfume and gunpowder; and although Dick knows he should take the uniform off, he’s happy that he has the choice not to.)

He’ll have to start heading to work in two hours, maybe two and a half if he really stretches it. The P.D. in ‘Haven does offer a bit of a flex, all the way until nine, but with the amount of paperwork piling up, Dick does need to head in extra early. Which means that, really, he should get his body moving and into the shower, then into bed for an hour, then up to make something to eat. He should. It’s just that all that seems like too much. That’s three whole separate sequences of action, and right now? Right now Dick isn’t sure if he can make it through even one of them. (Which is, of course, ridiculous, his mind supplies. Patrol was easy enough, and Dick is a grown man who should be more than capable of dealing with such mundane tasks on his own.)

_Compartmentalising_ , he thinks after five more minutes on the floor. He just needs to compartmentalise. Break it down into smaller, more easily accomplished categories. Stand up. Remove the gloves. Unzip the zipper. So on and so forth. It’s easy enough. At least it should be.

Lying down in bed twenty minutes later, Dick almost wants to laugh. At what, exactly, he isn’t sure, because nothing about the day has really been funny at all; at most, mildly amusing. Even then, that amusement has been fuzzy and filtered, and barely there for Dick to touch upon. Laughter seems rather inappropriate, and so, Dick squeezes his eyes shut and tries to force himself to sleep.

(He wakes up only half an hour later with a strangled scream on his lips, stuck in a different time and place. Reality seems to elude him, but when he belatedly realises that the muffled sobs he hears are his own, he lets out that misplaced and watery laugh from earlier. He still doesn’t know what he’s laughing at, but he likes to think that laughter is better than crying, even if the two seem so interchangeable now.)

(He’s fine, though. He’s always fine, and even if he isn’t, it’s not like anyone else than him needs to know. Dick wonders if they would care even if they _did_ know. It’s possible, but perhaps not probable. Dick wouldn't blame his family for not caring. After all, it's hardly like he cares, either.)

(That might be a problem, now that he thinks about it. So, really, it's far better to just straight-up ignore the thought, lest it be followed by others. He can't afford to break now, or ever.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And yay, that's it! Hopefully chapter three (featuring, according to the current plan, more characters and interactions in addition to Dick's inner turmoil) will be up soon-ish :3 Again, all feedback is very welcome!
> 
> Thank you for reading this far <3


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